Wylfred's Treat
by Little Rachael
Summary: Wylfred plans to defeat the Battle Maiden in a costume contest. Rated T for some crude humor.


The flame inside the jack-o-lantern shone brightly, like the flame of revenge within his soul. The anchovies sparkled like her hair, silver as the full moon, painful as a werewolf's bite. The olives were as bitter as his soul and as black as his heart.

"Tonight," he vowed, handsomely decked out in his pizza costume, "I will get my revenge on the Battle Maiden."

"Are you still saying that?" Ancel walked into the living room, his bacon and eggs costume looking delicious enough to eat. "Didn't you already get revenge last Christmas?"

"That plan failed!"

"Oh, right, I forgot about that," Ancel chuckled. "Who would have thought she liked fruitcake? Not even Tilte will eat fruitcake."

"But that won't happen this time. Look at this costume." He held out his arms like a mascot at an amusement park, just waiting to hug your children.

Ancel tried not to laugh. "It's certainly well put together. Tilte, Elsie, you ready?"

Tilte appeared in the living room, looking very _white_ in her cue ball costume. "Elsie will be ready in a minute. She ran out of black face paint, so she's using a magic marker. I don't even want to think about how she'll look at school tomorrow."

"Elsie, hurry up!" Wylfred shouted.

"Okay, I'm done!" giggled Elsie as she ran out of the bathroom in her eight ball costume. "How do I look, Wyl?"

"Like an eight ball," he said as he opened the door to leave. "Let's go. If I'm late, Ailyth is going to eat my soul."

"El, I can't believe you put marker on your face," Tilte sighed. "What will your mother say? And then we have school tomorrow…"

"I'm really glad we're not in school together anymore, Elsie."

Ancel looked shocked. "How could you say such a terrible thing about your little sister? You're so _cold_, Wyl."

Wylfred shrugged. "It's true."

"I'm used to it," Elsie said with a tragic sigh.

The party took place at Ailyth's Victorian mansion. With all the lights off, dead trees all around, and a terrifying aura arising from its walls, it was the perfect setting for a Halloween party.

Elsie shivered. "I'm getting seriously bad vibes from this place."

"It's all right," Wylfred assured her. "Ailyth can't eat any souls without a contract. And she mostly preys on men, so you two should be all right. Ancel, on the other hand…"

"I hope she's done something about that atmosphere," grumbled Ancel.

"Well, some of the gods will be there to balance out the otherworldly powers." Wylfred's face grew grim as he approached the door. "I can sense it…The Battle Maiden is already there." He knocked.

"Master Wylfred," Ailyth gushed as she opened the door. "And I see you brought your delicious friends with you. Come in, come in." She turned on the light, and Wylfred saw she was wearing a beautiful white chiffon dress.

"Um, Ailyth." Wylfred's face turned red. "Is that…"

"A wedding dress," she answered happily. "I'm a bride from Hel. And you, Master Wylfred, are my groom."

"No," he corrected her, "I'm a pizza."

Without missing a beat, Ailyth said, "Then I'm going to eat you up."

Wylfred cringed.

Ancel laughed and said, "You walked right into that one, Wyl."

"Ailyth," Wylfred muttered, "This is my sister, Elsie, and our friend Tilte. And you've met Ancel."

"Ah…" Ailyth sniffed the air. "Such tasty, pure souls. But I still like yours the best, Master Wylfred."

"Hey, lady," Elsie spoke up, "why do you call him 'Master Wylfred'?"

"Why, because he is my master." Ailyth gazed adoringly in Wylfred's direction. "We consummated our contract, just the two of us. It was _wonderful_. Your brother is an amazing man, Lady Elsie."

"Stop that, Ailyth! Elsie, don't listen to her. She addresses everyone that way."

"But it only means anything with you and Mistress Hel, Master Wylfred."

"Enough! Anyway, where's the Battle Maiden? What's she wearing?"

"Here I am."

The Battle Maiden, Lenneth, appeared in the entrance hall. She was dressed in a beautiful grey ball gown. Her face and arms were gastly white, and her silver hair shimmered as always. At her side stood a young man dressed as a penguin.

"I like your costume, Wylfred," she said, smiling. "And yours, too, Ancel, Tilte. Who is this? I don't believe we've met."

"My sister," growed Wylfred. "And if you take her soul, I will double my revenge!"

"My name's Elsie! But you can call me El. Or Elsie. Either one works. Wow, you're really beautiful!"

"Elsie, this woman is dangerous. She took Dad's soul! And she'll take yours, too, again!"

Lenneth chuckled. "It's too bad group entries aren't allowed. You and Tilte look adorable together. Are there more of you dressed up as the other balls?"

"No, ma'am," answered Tilte. "This was Elsie's idea. She came up with it…oh, yesterday."

Ancel laughed. "It's better than last year, when she didn't come up with a costume until the morning of Halloween."

Everyone laughed along with him, except for Wylfred.

"Is this another one of your victims, Battle Maiden?" he demanded as he looked at the penguin at her side.

"Oh…No, this is my lover, Lucian."

"Run!" hissed Wylfred. "Run while you still can!"

Lucian grinned. "I had to be something cute for my lovely Lenneth."

Suddenly, a mad gale of laughter resounded throughout the halls. Tilte gasped and grabbed Ancel's arm. Wylfred's scowl grew deeper, and Elsie squealed with delight.

"Is this house haunted?" she asked. "How exciting!"

"It's not haunted," Ailyth said, "unless you count me."

"You call that cute?" the voice's owner taunted, and a man dressed as a woolly white sheep stepped into the entrance hall. "Dare I say, I'm even cuter?"

Lenneth sighed.

"Get out, Lezard!" Lucian shouted angrily. "A dumb sheep! What's so cute about that? I must have missed that hit documentary that came out four years ago, _March of the Sheep_!"

"Ah, but if you try to cuddle with a penguin, it feels like wet feathers and smells like fish. Sheep, on the other hand, are soft and woolly and warm." Lezard gave one of his famous shrugs. "When it comes to cuddliness, I'm afraid penguins are simply left in the cold."

"But…but…!" Lucian ground his teeth together. He hadn't thought of any further arguments.

Wylfred put a hand on Lucian's shoulder. "It's all right," he said. "If it's any consolation, I think penguins are much cuter."

"Lenneth," Lezard sighed, "would you like to cuddle with me? Will you be my shepherdess, protecting me from harm, from the big, bad wolves that will come to tear me limb form limb, and then possibly perform experiments on me?"

"No," Lenneth said flatly. "And by the way, Lezard, I should warn you that you're in danger right now."

"In danger?" Lezard frowned. "From what?"

Before Lenneth could reply, a loud shriek sounded from the hallway. A woman in a medieval dress and hennin came rushing towards Lezard, and tackled him to the floor.

"You're so cute," she sighed, and kissed him on the cheek. "Arngrim, come take a picture."

"Right away, chief." A large, muscular mercenary dressed like Frankenstein joined the growing group and quickly stole a few pictures before Lezard could protest. "Say cheese, four eyes."

"Come, come." Ailyth took Wylfred's arm, and he reluctantly followed her to the ballroom. "Nearly everyone else is already hear. I almost feared you wouldn't show up."

"I didn't miss the contest, did I?"

"Master Wylfred, did you truly think I would start the contest without you?" Ailyth smiled. "It would be no fun."

"Good. Because that's all I'm here for."

"Wow!" Elsie's eyes lit up when she stepped into the ballroom. "So many people! So many costumes!"

"Ah, Sir Wylfred. What a pleasant surprise." A slim man dressed in a spandex body suit walked over to Wylfred, an enticing grin on his face. "And how are you this fine evening?" The suit showed off his body, leaving very little to the imagination, and was colored with purple stripes. Fortunately, the colors were too dark to draw attention to certain parts of his body. Finally, to make it clear which animal he was supposed to be, he wore cat ears.

"Fauxnel," Wylfred said, "what the hell are you?"

"The Cheshire cat, of course. From _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_? The smile, of course, is part of my costume." He turned to Tilte and bowed. "How nice it is to see you again, Lady Tilte. Who is your friend?"

"Oh!" Tilte recovered from the trance she was in and stammered, "This…This is my friend, Elsie. She's Wyl's sister," she added, nodding in Wylfred's direction.

"Howdy," greeted Elsie.

"Wylfred never told me had such an adorable sister." Fauxnel kissed Elsie's hand, but she remained unimpressed. "Did you come to participate in the contest, my dear?"

Elsie shook her head. "No. But Wyl is."

"What about you?" Wylfred asked. "Are you going to be in the contest?"

"No. Valmur cannot enter, so he said it wouldn't be fair if I did."

"Why can't Valmur enter?"

"_Fauxnel_!" shouted a voice from the other side of the ballroom. Fauxnel turned to see a blue blur running toward him. "Check it out! If I take my boots off, I can slide across the floor!"

"Whoa!" Elsie took off her shoes and began to slide in another direction.

"El, wait!" Tilte cried, and took off after her.

The blue blur turned out to be Nicolas, a member of House Haughn, who was dressed as a Power Ranger. He crashed into Fauxnel, but not with enough force to knock him over.

"Nicolas, that's enough." The Red Ranger, Valmur, skated over in a more graceful fashion. "Fauxnel is more delicate than he looks. You have to be _gentle_ with him." The suggestive way he said it made Fauxnel blush.

"Valmur," he scolded, "don't say it like that."

"Like what?" he asked, a frank and innocent look on his face.

"Like…you know…" The blush deepened. "Like you're…like I'm…"

"Like you're what?" Valmur frowned. "But you are delicate, aren't you? You said so yourself. When…" He cleared his throat and pretended to act embarrassed. "Well, you know…"

"I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I never said that!" Fauxnel gasped. "I, I mean, I…I didn't, I didn't…! I didn't _mean_ it like that…"

"But you begged me to be gentle, Fauxnel." Valmur's eyes grew distant. "You told me you needed to be touched a certain way. Oh, how sweet your voice sounded. I think you might have even been a little teary-eyed. You…"

Tilte looked at Fauxnel from across the room. She'd never seen him so flustered. "El, I'm going back."

"Aww, why?" Elsie skated after her friend. "I can't believe you like that boring guy. You know it's all just an act, right?"

"I know. That's what makes him so interesting. And I don't like him _that_ way."

"You're so cute when you panic, Fauxnel," Valmur chuckled.

Nicolas stuck out his tongue. "That's so gross, brother."

"What's gross about it? Is it so unnatural that I, his oldest and dearest friend, would do that for him?"

"What did you do for him, mister?" asked Elsie.

"He, he…He put some vinegar on my back," Fauxnel finally said. "To relieve sunburn. During the summer."

"You have to see him when he's in pain, Tilte." Valmur sighed contentedly. "I mean, it hurts to see him suffer, of course. But later, you remember and realize how adorable he looked. Fauxnel has _very _sensitive skin, you see, because it's so fair. It was my fault, really. I shouldn't have dragged him outside like that. But I was afraid he wasn't having any fun, you see. And he had tears in his eyes as he begged me to help him. Now, when Nicolas and Phiona got sunburnt when they were kids, we would use vinegar, so I did the same with him. Of course, Fauxnel wasn't pleased about smelling like a Greek salad all afternoon, but he was just so desperate. It hurt so much that he wailed when I touched his back to apply it and told me to be more gentle." He turned to Fauxnel with a gentle smile on his face. "That's what happened, isn't it?"

"Yes, but…" Fauxnel muttered, "you didn't have to say it so…_sensuously_…"

Elsie grinned. "Well, I guess you're less boring than I originally thought."

"Elsie, that's rude," Tilte scolded.

"So," Wylfred interrupted, gesturing to Nicolas' and Valmur's costumes, "is this why you couldn't compete?"

Valmur nodded. "I was so disappointed. I thought for sure that all five of us dressed up as the Power Rangers would be a sure win. But I forgot to ask Ailyth about the rules…" He shuddered. "She's kind of intimidating, isn't she?"

Wylfred shrugged. "You get used to it. So Phiona is the Pink Ranger?"

"No, she's the Yellow Ranger. Mother is the Pink Ranger, and Father is the Black Ranger."

"They do make quite a sight," muttered Fauxnel.

"Oh my gosh, it's him!"

"Big brother!"

Mireille and Mischka, dressed normally, dashed across the ballroom, even faster than the skaters. They crashed into Wylfred, knocking him over, but Ancel caught him.

"You two…" Wylfred slowly looked from one twin to the other. "You came as yourselves? Not that that's not a scary enough costume, but…"

The twins began to giggle madly. Nicolas and Elsie joined in, even though they had no idea what was going on.

"I told you he would say that!"

"Nuh-uh! I told you!"

"Well, shall we tell him?"

"Nah, let's give him a hint!"

"All right, a hint!"

"Look closely, big brother!"

Wylfred did as he was told, and then stepped back with a start. "You're…each other!?"

"Bingo!" Mireille cried, placing a hand on Mischka's shoulder. "You haven't noticed, have you? That Mischka's been growing his hair out the past couple of months? And I just got mine cut today."

"I'm getting mine cut again after Halloween," Mischka added. "Sis said this might be the last year I can pass as a girl."

"But we can't stay long," Mireille reminded him. "We still have to go trick-or-treating!"

"Yeah, and if we don't get any candy, we'll slash someone in the face"!

The children burst into peals of joyful laughter. Wylfred couldn't help smiling at their innocence.

"They're barely younger than us," Elsie muttered.

"Master Wylfred!" Ailyth came running over to him, looking positively distressed. "We have an emergency! Oh, it's terrible!"

"What? What is it?" He hadn't seen her this upset since Lieselotte stole his sword.

"The costume contest is a failure. Oh, Master Wylfred, without the costume contest, nobody will remember Ailyth's costume party." And she began to weep.

Wylfred knew better than to be deceived by Ailyth's crocodile tears, but he, too, was horrified at the idea of no costume contest. Why, without the contest, how could he hope to best the Battle Maiden?

"What happened? Why can't we go on with the contest?" A million ideas raced through Wylfred's head. An accident, perhaps—or maybe Ailyth was feeling she couldn't control herself around all these delicious human souls. Maybe she had already lost control. He was about to start counting the guests when Ailyth answered.

"There aren't enough entries! I have over a dozen consolation prizes, and only you and the Battle Maiden have entered!"

"Oh…" Wylfred breathed a sigh of relief. "Is that all? Well, that's no problem, then. Just give first place to one of us!"

"But I cannot do that, Master Wylfred." Ailyth shook her head mournfully. "Lady Hel and I prepared these consolation prizes ourselves. We cannot let them go to waste. There must be at least a dozen more contestants for the consolation prizes. If we cannot get rid of the prizes…well, I shudder to think of the consequences."

Wylfred grumbled something.

"What was that, Master?"

"…I'll get some more contestants."

"Oh, thank you!" Ailyth threw her arms around him and kissed him on the neck. Wylfred blushed, having never been kissed in such an intimate place before, and then shivered, for her lips were like ice.

The first thing Wylfred did was turn to Ancel. "Well, how about it, Ancel? I'm going to have to ask you to enter. How about it?"

Ancel nodded. "I guess I could do that. I just have to show the judges my costume, right?"

"Oh, no, Lord Ancel." A mischievous smile formed on Ailyth's face. "That is only part of it. You must also do a little presentation. A song, or a dance, or even just a bit of prose telling us about your costume."

Ancel's face fell. "Oh, Wyl, do I really have to do this? You know I hate getting in front of an audience."

"Please, Ancel," Wylfred begged. "I have a feeling that the fate of all four worlds is at stake if Ailyth doesn't get her way."

Ancel sighed. "Well, I don't care if I win or not. So can I just not make one up, even though I'll lose?"

"I am afraid not, Lord Ancel. If you do not do a presentation, you will be disqualified. In other words, it will be as though you never entered in the first place."

"She's got you pinned," Wylfred muttered. Then he turned to Fauxnel. "You're joining, too." It wasn't a question.

Fauxnel sighed. "I can't say I'm surprised."

"No fair!" Valmur interrupted. "I'm joining, too! And I'll do it alone!" He turned to Nicolas. "Tell Phiona I'm sorry."

"Phiona will get over it," said Nicolas. "It's Mom and Dad you have to worry about."

"Well then, Master Wylfred…" Ailyth gave a deep bow. "I have cookies to bake. I shall return for the contest, which begins in an hour. If you'll excuse me…"

"Damn," muttered Ancel after she was gone. "How did you get such a sexy…whatever she is…on your side?"

"I don't know." Wylfred shook his head. "But I wish I knew how to get her off."

And he couldn't understand why everyone was trying not to laugh.

***

"Thank you for waiting, ladies and gentlemen." Ailyth's smooth, sultry voice settled over the audience, which consisted of those who couldn't participate in the contest, as well as a few demons and gods.

"First, let me welcome our judges. In order to really give our contestants a tough time, I decided to turn to the stuffed-shirt gods of Asgard. Please welcome Odin, Freya, Thor, Tyr, and Ull."

The gods stood. Freya was dressed as a cat—a pretty typical Halloween costume.

Odin was a robot, but wasn't getting into the act. In fact, he was sitting in the same damn pose he had used throughout the entire series.

Thor was the same thing he was every year: He-Man, Master of the Universe. "It's not a costume," he always insisted.

Tyr had chosen an anime theme for his costume. He was Kenshin, and although he didn't really look like him, he dared anyone to say so. They didn't.

Ull's costume was a little…different. He had a flowery, fruity hat on his head and an army jacket that made him look very odd indeed. Underneath the jacket, he had on a "wife beater" shirt and a macaroni necklace. He wore a candy bracelet on each wrist and a pair of neon green and hot pink striped pants that gave one a headache. He wore normal-looking shoes with skis attached. No one was quite sure what he was supposed to be.

A few people clapped to be polite, but most simply stared.

The contest began.

"Hello, everyone!" shouted Ancel as he walked onto the stage. "I'm breakfast! I'm delicious and nutritious! Two strips of crunchy, salty, downright tasty bacon and two yummy-in-your-tummy sunny-side up eggs! So start off your morning every day with _me_!" He threw his arms out wide, expecting applause.

He got his applause, but only from Tilte and Elsie.

"Is that all you can say?" demanded Freya. "And bacon isn't nutritious. It's high in fat and coated with nasty grease."

Ancel's face crumpled and he walked off the stage.

"I didn't think I'd take it so hard," he sobbed as he sat next to Tilte. "I mean, I knew I wouldn't win, but…"

Tilte patted him on the shoulder. "If it means anything," she said, "I think you looked really appealing up there."

"And tasty," added Elsie. "So tasty, I'm going to ask Wyl to make me some eggs and bacon when we get home."

Fauxnel was next. He walked onto the stage with a look that seemed to say, "Why do I have to do this?"

"Another cat," Freya muttered. "Show some originality."

"Excuse me, madame," purred Fauxnel, "I am not just any cat. I am the Cheshire cat." He cleared his throat and said his piece.

"Well, then, you see, a dog growls when it's angry, and wags its tail when it's pleased. Now I growl when I'm pleased, and wag my tail when I'm angry. Therefore I'm mad."

"And what the hell does that mean?" Odin asked. "Damn mortals!"

"If you didn't think so highly of yourself that you couldn't bear to read the works of mortals, then you would know that is a quote from Lewis Carroll's _Alice in Wonderland_."

Odin stood up, presenting himself in a confrontational matter. "You would speak more reverently to the Lord of the Gods if you know what was good for you."

"Oh, you would like to settle this?"

"Right now! Step outside!"

"Just let me change into my normal clothes…"

"Stop!" came a voice from offstage.

A big, hulking man with long, wild hair appeared at Fauxnel's side. He wore all black with a red, spotted shell on his back and glittery red antenna attached to a hairband.

"It's Brahms, Lord of the Undead!" someone shouted.

"Don't take off your clothes!" Brahms scolded. "Think of the children."

"I wasn't going to do it here," Fauxnel said, looking embarrassed. "What are you supposed to be, anyway?"

Brahms stared at him with some irritation. "I'm a cute little ladybug. Isn't it obvious?"

_It's not obvious at all! _Fauxnel thought. _Especially the cute part!_

"Sir Fauxnel," said Lezard, walking onstage, "a mediocre sorcerer such as yourself could never hope to defeat Odin. Take my advice and enlist some divine help. Of course, with your lack of power and knowledge—compared to me, that is—you will run into a bit of trouble…"

"Enough!" roared Odin. "A mortal in a sheep costume giving advice on how to defeat me? Preposterous! I was merely going to challenge him to a game of nine-pins."

"I have lost interest," Fauxnel mumbled. He walked offstage, where everyone heard a distraught Valmur exclaim, "Oh, Fauxnel! What were you _thinking_, challenging the Lord of the Gods like that?"

"So, who's next?" Odin asked, looking from Brahms to Lezard.

Brahms sighed. "Well, I may as well go next." He nodded to Lezard, who walked offstage. "Are you ready for me to speak my piece?"

Without waiting for an answer, he began.

"I am a ladybug," he said slowly.

An awkward pause followed, and the audience began to wonder if that was the end. But suddenly, in a burst of glitter, Brahms lept into the air.

"I fly," he proclaimed as he did some pounces and pirouettes that made the other vampires embarrassed to watch. "Sometimes I get caught in breezes," he added, twirling around and throwing himself about. "I eat aphids, which are good for gardens. For _your _gardens," he added proudly, before producing a handful of real aphids and stuffing them into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully and then swallowed, proving to the audience that he had indeed devoured a fistful of aphids.

"Now," he announced, "I must return home and attend to my children." He skipped off the stage, chanting, "Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home! Your house is on fire; your children will burn!"

"Come back here!" roared Thor as he slammed his hammer down on the table. "We need to rip you apart! Get back here, you cowardly demon!"

Brahms stuck his head out from behind the curtain, gave the gods a raspberry, and disappeared again.

"Damn him!"

"Of all the nerve!"

"Fuck you, too, Brahms!"

"Ull, watch your langauge."

"I'll have your head!"

"Silence, everyone!" Freya interrupted, clapping hands. "I believe next up is Lezard Valeth."

The gods began to boo. Lezard ignored them, walking out with a large grin on his face.

"Greetings, my fellow gods—" he began, but the booing only increased in volume.

"You'll never be a god!"

"You've got a lot of gall to even show your face here!"

"SILENCE!"

This last work was spoken by Odin. He turned to Lezard and snarled, "Go on! And act like a sheep, damn it!"

"I am a sheep," Lezard said, smiling sweetly. "I am soft and cuddly. Mares eat oats and does it oats and little lambs eat ivy. A kid'll eat ivy, too—wouldn't you?"

"That sounds like gibberish," Tyr muttered. "Don't you think?"

"I'm peaceful, vegetarian, and very, very gentle," purred Lezard. "So please, take me and cuddle me. I'm as meek as can be. Don't be afraid. I will treat you like the goddess you are."

"You're a wolf in sheep's clothing," Ull smirked. "You can't fool any of us, and you're certainly not fooling Lenneth!"

"Lezard," Hrist called from the audience, "I will allow you to worship me if you continue to wear that costume." Everyone laughed.

But Lezard, unperturbed as always, took a bow and slowly walked off the stage.

"Next!" barked Odin.

The audience waited. Backstage, whispers could be heard.

"Next!" Odin repeated, his face growing red with rage.

A foot—or rather, a hoof--appeared on stage, followed by a white leg with black spots. Everyone immediately knew the costume was supposed to be a cow, but its owner was not moving.

"Oh, come out, already!" shouted Freya. "Don't sign up for a costume contest if you're going to get embarrassed!"

"This is all for Lady Rosea…for Lady Rosea's sake…I must be brave…the enemy is equally afraid…"

"Come out, Duwain!" shouted Wylfred. "For Rosea!"

"For Rosea…for Rosea…" Duwain poked his head out, his face bright red. "You know, she was going to be the one in the contest, because she promised Lieselotte she would be in it…I didn't choose this costume—it was the only one left! I wasn't going to dress up!"

"It's all right, Duwain! You can do it!"

"Do it, Duwain!"

"Show us the goods, Duwain!"

"Don't laugh!" he begged. "I'm so embarrassed I could die!"

"We won't laugh, Duwain," Wylfred promised. Others murmured their agreement.

"All…all right." Trembling, Duwain stepped onto the stage so everyone could see him.

He looked like a normal cow—white with black spots, horns on his head, a bell around his neck, and an udder.

A very, very _big _udder.

It was at least twice the size of a normal cow udder, and swung between his legs like a pair of distended testicles covered in nipples.

And when the audience saw that udder, they began to laugh.

Some of the politer characters, such as Lyseria and Lockswell, held back the laughter as best they could. Others, like Gwendal and Rufus, laughed loudly, slapping their knees and shaking their heads.

"I…I am a, c-cow," Duwain stammered. He looked around, and his face fell even further when he saw that even Wylfred was doubled over in silent laughter. "M…moooo," he added, and the audience laughed even harder.

"I, I walk on four legs." He got down on his hands and knees. "I eat grass all day…" He lowered his head to the ground. "I sway back and forth in my stall…" He did so, making the giant udder sway as well.

By now several people in the audience were in tears, and others were having difficulty breathing.

"More souls for you, Lenneth," Freya shouted.

Duwain began to shake violently as he prepared to say his last line. "And…f-f-f-from time to time, I…I need to…I need to be milked!" And he went from his hands to his knees and began to massage his udder in what appeared to be a very indecent manner indeed.

If the audience could be said to be hysterical before, by now they were completely in conniptions. Even the gods could no longer keep their divine composure.

"That is the best laugh I've ever had!" Ull howled.

"I'm going to wet myself!" Thor roared.

Tyr was too overcome with a fit of giggles to speak.

Duwain, nearly sobbing with humiliation, stood up and walked offstage.

Next up was Valmur. He ran onto the stage in his Red Ranger outfit and shouted, "It's morphin' time!"

He was met with blank stares from everyone except his parents, who glared at him.

Finally, Odin spoke. "Is that all you can think of?"

Valmur's face fell. "Well…I haven't seen the show in a long time, so…um…TYRANNOSAURUS!"

The judges remained unimpressed.

"Fine," Valmur scoffed. "Not my fault you don't appreciate the best TV show ever. I'm done." He hopped off the stage and sat down next to Fauxnel. "Can you believe that?"

"I can. The gods are extremely hard to please." Fauxnel nodded at the next contestant. "Watch this next one. Sir Heugoe's costume is enough to cause a scandal."

Heugoe was wearing a teapot over his pelvis. The spout was in front. He walked to the center of the stage, faced the judges, and began to sing.

"_I'm a little teapot, short and stout!_

_Here is my handle, here is my spout._

_When I get all steamed up, then I shout!_

_Tip me over and pour me out!"_

As he sang "pour me out," he leaned forward slightly what tea began to pour from the spout.

"Oh, my," Fauxnel muttered. "I did not know about _that_."

There was a pause…and then all the gods shook their heads.

"Dull."

"Terrible."

"Not at all clever."

"Dreadful."

"You can't sing."

_This doesn't bode well_, Wylfred thought as he listened to the comments. _I thought it was a clever costume. I'm really going to have to wow them. Well, here goes nothing._

He strutted onto the stage. "I am a pizza," he announced. "I'm absolutely delicious. You'll want to eat the toppings right off with me. You can keep me to yourself, or share with others. You can even nibble on me…gently, of course. I come in both Large and Extra Large. And I last a long, long time."

Surprisingly, the gods began to whoop and holler. The audience simply stared, horrified.

"Wyl, that's bad form," Ancel told him when he stepped back down. "How could say such indecent things in front of El?"

Wylfred shrugged. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ancel."

The gods were not so pleased with everyone.

To Liese, Odin said, "Another teenage witch costume? Oh, _that _hasn't been done before."

To Lucian, it was, "Get out. No one wants to watch a penguin shake its tail feathers."

To Gwendal, "A mug of beer? I would have thought you'd be a roll of cash. Next."

To Phyress, "You're 'Time'? How creative…but moronic."

Next was Lenneth. She walked quietly onto the stage and presented herself before the gods.

"I am a ghost," she recited, her calm voice soothing all it reached. I was married once. I had two children whom I loved dearly. But one night, everything changed. The man I loved left me. He ran off with a younger, more beautiful woman. Without him, I sank into despair. I tried to find work, but no one wanted to hire a poor woman with two children. I walked the streets at night, willing to sell my body for just a little bit of food. I became ill, and I knew it would not be long before I died and my children were sold into slavery. One night, I took them to the river. I took one child in each arm and said we would always be together. Then, I jumped into the river and the three of us drowned. Somewhere between life and death we became separated. My tears have not stopped since then." She looked out to the audience and gave them a pleading look. "I beg of you…if you see my children, tell them their mother waits."

By the time she was through, several in the audience were sobbing, and many more were trying to hold back tears. Even the gods looked somber.

"Oh, Lenneth," sighed Freya, wiping a tear from her eye, "that was beautiful."

"I expected great things from you," Odin agreed, "but you have exceeded my expectations. Well done."

"I'll…I'll find your children, Lenneth," sobbed Ull.

Thor and Tyr were crying on each other's shoulders.

"That's gonna be a tough one to beat, Wyl," Ancel whispered. Wylfred nodded.

The last presentation was Dylan (you haven't forgotten about him, have you?), who was a clock.

He stood there and sang in a very bored voice,

"_Hickory, dickory, dock_

_The mouse ran up the clock_

_The clock struck one, the mouse ran down_

_Hickory, dickory, dock."_

And the contest was over.

***

Finally, the judging was at hand.

"Now, remember," Ailyth reminded everyone, "There can only be one winner, but the rest will get these fabulous consolation prizes Mistress Hel and I made ourselves. Now, I must say, if you do like them enough to give up your soul for more, please do let me know. I am quite certain I can arrange something."

Nervous mumbles began to arise among the crowd.

"And the winner is…" Ailyth slowly opened the envelope, then looked up, confused. "Duwain?"

"No!" shouted Wylfred, but his protests were drowned out by the thunderous applause in Duwain's honor, which came from the contestants, the audience, and even the judges.

"That took guts!" said Thor.

"I think we could all learn something from this Duwain," Odin said. "Perhaps we, as gods, are too uptight. We should follow his example every now and then and have some fun!"

"I know what I'm going to be next year," Ull muttered.

"You and me both," Tyr agreed. "Duwain, could I borrow that costume next year?"

"Of—of course!" Duwain exclaimed, and tears of joy came to his eyes. He continued to bow and wave as the audience threw flowers and candy onto the stage.

"And now, the consolation prizes." Ailyth clapped her hands, and a vampire with a disgusted look on its face wheeled in a cart filled with small pumpkin pies. "Each contestant who did not win first place will get one."

Everyone else looked reluctant, but Ancel quickly dug into his.

"This is great!" he announced. "It's the best I've ever had!"

"Just remember, everyone," Lenneth said, "that although the pies of Niflheim may seem to be worth selling your souls, the pies of Asgard are even better." But even she was enjoying the pie.

"And finally, for Duwain," Ailyth continued, "a grand prize of one free Get Out of an Underworldy Contract card!" She presented Duwain with a card made out of a foreign material. "It is indistructible and, if lost, will return to your side. The implications of the card are as follows: Should one of us tempt you into a contract, you can use this card to get out of it and still reap the benefits. In other words, the demon will have to follow through on his or her side of the bargain, but you will not."

Everyone agreed that was an amazingly useful prize. Even Wylfred had to admit that Duwain had earned it.

"Next time, Battle Maiden," he muttered.

"Did you say something, Master?" Ailyth asked.

"Nothing. Hey, Ailyth, do you know why the gods liked my costume?"

Ailyth smiled and shook her head. "I do not think it was your costume that they liked, Master Wylfred. Heugoe had a clever costume, but his presentation was boring. I think they were pleased by all your double entendres."

"Double on what?"

She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, "I would be happy to nibble on you any time."

"N…" Wylfred's face turned beet red. "No, thank you! I still don't trust your teeth!"

"Very well." Ailyth chuckled. "Well, you had best be on your way, then—you and the other contestants. I'm beginning to feel hungry."

On their way out, Elsie turned to Wylfred and said, "Hey Wyl, are you going to take me trick-or-treating?"

"Trick-or-treating?" Wylfred groaned. "Come on, El, it's so late and I'm exhausted…"

"Wyl, it's only eight o'clock," Ancel reminded him.

"Come, El," Tilte said, "we can go by ourselves. Goodness knows we're old enough."

As they walked off in the opposite direction, Wylfred sighed. "Well, time to head home. That pumpkin pie was delicious, by the way. I'm in the mood for cherry, though. Want to stop by the store on the way home?"

"I guess so." Ancel grinned. "Tonight has been rather tasty, hasn't it? Pizza, bacon, eggs, pie…We may have gotten tricked, but in the end we got a treat!"

"…Seriously, Ancel, what the hell was that? 'We may have gotten tricked, but in the end we got a treat'? What does that even mean?"

"I don't know. It sounded like a clever way to end the story."

"It would be a real _treat _if you didn't say things like that anymore."

"Oh, Wyl, you're so _tricky_."

"That's enough!"

"Would you like some of my treats, Master Wylfred?"

"No! And why are you here? Weren't you hungry?"

"That's why I'm here, Master."

"No, no, no! Ancel, help!"

The next morning, everyone agreed that Ailyth's Garm costume was definitely the scariest.

END


End file.
